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Federal Agent Under Fire
Julie Anne Lindsey


She fought for her life – but the terror continues.FBI agent Blake Garrett is trying to track a serial killer and now the madman has attacked Marissa Lane. She escaped with her life…but is still in danger. Blake is torn between a need find the killer and protect the woman he can’t possibly keep!







She’d fought for her life

but the terror continues.

For five years FBI agent Blake Garrett has fixated on a serial-killer case. Now the madman has attacked Marissa Lane. She escaped with her life...and some clues that could help Blake. Yet she is still the object of the killer’s obsession. And Blake is torn between the unquenching need to catch his prey and a deep desire to protect the woman he can’t possibly keep.


JULIE ANNE LINDSEY is a multi-genre author who writes the stories that keep her up at night. She’s a self-proclaimed nerd with a penchant for words and proclivity for fun. Julie lives in rural Ohio with her husband and three small children. Today, she hopes to make someone smile. One day she plans to change the world. Julie is a member of the International Thriller Writers (ITW) and Sisters in Crime (SinC). Learn more about Julie Anne Lindsey at www.julieannelindsey.com (http://www.julieannelindsey.com).


Also by Julie Anne Lindsey (#u07ab4e56-a05f-5785-91d7-792d74028b0d)

Federal Agent Under Fire

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Federal Agent Under Fire

Julie Anne Lindsey






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ISBN: 978-1-474-07875-7

FEDERAL AGENT UNDER FIRE

© 2018 Julie Anne Lindsey

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Dedicated to double-shot espressos.


Contents

Cover (#u9456eafa-6674-5ddc-92dd-5b9008e004aa)

Back Cover Text (#u5b54b65a-ca18-5ddc-b1e8-5c793af1a9ea)

About the Author (#u1db50f46-f305-5470-aa9a-05fda7f91064)

Booklist (#u7ad1e282-2681-566c-b396-932417f6a1a7)

Title Page (#u0dd3a70d-d251-5324-abfd-1c3f2bd5ddff)

Copyright (#u4c24b849-275f-5f5b-8cf8-af8645edd822)

Dedication (#u055c42bc-3c41-5b6f-86da-ed1e29ff2ce8)

Chapter One (#u6eb6474c-a7ab-5f03-a28e-f8d58f27240e)

Chapter Two (#u479ca6e7-5053-5b37-8b4b-054ca85fab95)

Chapter Three (#u7660c941-cdea-5d52-b717-e08d033554e7)

Chapter Four (#u86641eab-9c0f-514c-be9d-5c92d388cf79)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#u07ab4e56-a05f-5785-91d7-792d74028b0d)

Marissa Lane knew something was wrong the minute she saw him. In the six months since she’d started her predawn ritual, she’d rarely seen anyone in the national park before sunup, save the occasional ranger, but there were no rangers today. Only him. A man nearly engulfed in shadows at the lookout where she watched the sunrise three days a week.

She slowed her pace before reaching the low wooden fence that separated hikers from a sharp plummet into fog-laced evergreens, angling her body to keep the man in her sights. Everything about the moment set her intuition on edge, but she forced the shaky feeling away. She’d met plenty of fellow hikers over the years, and they’d all been kind. Kindred spirits. Glad to be outdoors. It was the hour that threw her. She’d started to think of herself as the only one in town who enjoyed a good sunrise.

The rocky eastern face of the park’s tallest mountain was the best place in Cade County to watch a sunrise, maybe the best in Kentucky. Marissa had yet to find a better one, though it was her job to try, and she did four mornings a week. Normally, she’d have finished her water and enjoyed her apple before walking back to her ride, parked nearly five miles down the trail, but today every cell in her body said that whatever had brought this man into her path wasn’t good, and she didn’t want any part of it.

“Mornin’.” His voice was low and gravelly. The hood of his jacket was up, working in collaboration with the shadows to shield his face.

Marissa lifted her chin in acknowledgement. She moved her tired body another step away, feigning interest in the view closest to the trail. He’d probably come there to think and was feeling as intruded upon as she was. Courtesy said she should be on her way. Greedily, she dawdled for one more breathtaking look.

The fiery glow of daylight scorched a path across the sky, climbing the opposite mountain with vigor and bathing thousands of deciduous trees, already dressed in rich autumn colors, with luminous shades from amber to apricot and everything in between. These were her favorite seconds of the day; when an ordinary forest became an inferno, and the world was backlit by Mother Nature’s glory.

The man broke free from the shadow and took a few casual steps in Marissa’s direction, setting her intuition into overdrive. The light scent of cigarette smoke plumed from his clothes, tainting the crisp morning air. This man wasn’t a hiker, wasn’t a runner, and he was definitely not getting a second of Marissa’s time.

She turned away with a frustrated sigh and headed down the mountain on tired, burning legs and a heart full of injustice. Anger churned in her gut with each forced step. She’d made the run in record time. She’d pushed her body for results and had gotten them. These few fleeting moments of sunrise were supposed to be her reward, but this man, whoever he was, was stealing those from her. She hated herself for letting him. For fearing him when she didn’t know him. For denying herself the hard-earned prize because she was a woman and he was a stranger. All feminism aside, wrong or right, she’d promised her parents long ago to make safety paramount while she was on her adventures. It was her duty to hold to that, even now, when he had her sunrise and she had a long walk back to where she’d started.

The return trip was always a slower, more methodical process. A pleasurable cooldown, normally preceded by rest on the lookout. She massaged the warm muscles in her neck and shoulders as she moved, swinging her arms across her body for an added stretch. Her legs were rubbery beneath her, but the brisk autumn breeze was invigorating as it rushed over the sheen of sweat on her skin. If she could sell everything and live in the wild for a year, at one with nature, part of the beautiful multicolored kingdom around her, she’d do it in a heartbeat. But only for a year. Eventually she’d miss her crazy family, except for her little sister. Kara would probably be swinging in the hammock beside hers.

Back at the trailhead, the lot was empty except for her old Jeep, and Marissa couldn’t bring herself to make the drive home without enjoying the moment of reflection she’d worked for. She checked the empty trail behind her, then hooked a left onto the short path toward Shadow Valley Lake. A hundred yards later, she slid onto the ground at the base of an ancient tree and pulled her knees to her chest. The lake was beautiful, peaceful and full of history.

Shadow Valley was one of Kentucky’s lake towns. Someday Marissa planned to see for herself what remained of the underwater historic town. Records showed that residents were relocated up the mountain in the nineteen thirties before their town was permanently flooded. Hard to believe remnants of another time had stood silently beneath the surface for decades, disguised as part of the national park. Those were images she’d love to capture.

She sipped her water and wondered if she’d been irrational to change her daily routine for the sake of one man. Maybe, but what was he doing there? Where was his car, if not in the lot with hers? And who hiked five miles to have a cigarette? The scent had been strong and fresh.

She shook away the irrelevant thoughts and focused instead on the beauty before her. It was important that she start her days at peace, in harmony with her work. Marissa’s adventure photos were fast becoming a lucrative business. The images she’d captured were used across the country in textbooks and at seminars on the preservation of wildlife. Her dreams were coming true and demand was rising. In the last year alone, she’d made more than enough to pay the bills and support her travels.

She ran a forearm over her brow before crunching into her morning apple. The sweet scent lifted a smile on her lips as she pressed her tired back against the supportive tree and breathed. Her eyelids dipped closed on the exhale. The moment was so perfectly Zen; she almost didn’t turn around when the sound of snapping twigs forced her eyes open. Almost.

Marissa pushed slowly to her feet, listening hard for the next noise. Whatever had cracked the twigs was heavier than a rabbit and less stealthy than anything calling this area home. She opened her stance and braced her tired form. The sudden silence was astounding. She dared a peek around the large oak. There was nothing but the breeze and a pair of chasing squirrels, turning century-old trees into a playground. She puffed a sigh of relief.

The breeze lifted again, stronger this time and bringing a fresh rustling of leaves with it. This distinct scent of cigarette smoke stiffened her spine. Logically, she knew she wasn’t in danger. She’d visited the national park three days a week and met dozens of people, all friendly. But her logic had already shut down. Marissa discarded her apple. She screwed the lid on her bottle and gripped it in both hands.

A jaunty whistle lifted slowly into the air and echoed off the trees. A strange, familiar tune she hadn’t heard in years, and one that seemed wildly out of place in the forest.

She stepped silently around the tree and again, there was nothing.

Except the whistle.

Marissa turned in a small circle, seeking the source. Her accelerated heartbeat joined every other instinct telling her to go. She bounced forward, away from the sound, back toward the trail. To the safety of her Jeep. The normalcy of her life.

“Don’t leave.” A man’s voice boomed in her ear, successfully ending the whistle and shattering the eerie silence left in its wake.

Something hard connected with the side of her head, sending her sideways into another large tree. Scents of earth and bark exploded in her senses as sharp pain tore through her face. Marissa cried out at the shock and agony. The sound was extinguished by a large pair of gloved hands, clamping firmly around her throat.

Softly then, the man began to sing.

Her eyes bulged. Searing pressure filled her lungs. She clawed uselessly at the massive hands until images of her sister and parents blurred in her mind. She was dying, and he was singing.

Suddenly her fight-or-flight instinct sharpened like a switchblade slicing through the fear. No longer able to flee, years of self-defense courses bubbled to the cloudy surface of her thoughts along with the voices of past instructors, her father, and every surviving woman whose story had served as a warning.

Marissa refused to be a victim.

She released his hands and balled her fingers into fists. She rammed her elbows into the soft torso behind her and drew strength from the gust of breath that swept out of him in response. She stomped one foot against her attacker’s instep and followed with a kick to the shin. He swore violently and tightened the pressure on her throat, repositioning his fingers for a more effective grip. Black dots danced in her peripheral vision, but she wasn’t done. The human kneecap breaks with only eight pounds of pressure. He was taller than her, but slower. She kicked again, raising her foot high behind her, this time earning a wild yelp. His grip faltered and sweet oxygen rushed into her burning lungs. She was small, but that was an advantage, not a curse. She bent her knees to lower her center of gravity and clutched his forearms with both hands. In one final heave, her body lurched forward, chucking the man over her back and soundly onto his. Air whooshed from his mouth, and Marissa’s wobbly legs were in motion before he’d hit the ground.

* * *

FEDERAL AGENT BLAKE GARRETT stormed into the Shadow Point Sheriff’s Department with a familiar mix of dread and adrenaline. “West.” His voice echoed through the building as his long legs ate up the distance between the front desk and his brother West’s office. He dipped his chin at the receptionist as he passed. If West was right about Nash Barclay, there was no time to waste on formalities.

“West.” Blake strode past a set of deputies gearing up for their shift and down the narrow hall past West’s empty office. The place never changed. Concrete floors. Metal desks. The constant aroma of black coffee in the air, and the words Sheriff Garrett painted on the big office door. The Garrett inside was once their father. Now, it was his younger brother. Where the hell was he?

Blake opened his mouth to call again, but stopped short.

Sheriff West Garrett popped his head through the open conference room door. “Hey.” He met Blake with a hearty hug. “It’s good to see you. Wish I could get you back to town this quick for fishing and birthdays, but I suppose a possible serial killer sighting is as good an invitation for you.” West’s hair was lighter than Blake’s, bleached by hours in the sun. His face was tanned and his eyes were bright, mischievous for a reason Blake couldn’t comprehend. They had business to discuss. Ugly, dirty business and no reason, as far as Blake could tell, for nonsense.

“How sure are you that this was Nash?” Blake asked. He owed Nash Barclay a bullet and he planned on making good on the debt. “He’s been underground for nearly five years.”

West furrowed his brows. “When was the last time you slept, man?”

Roughly? Five years ago. “I’m doing just fine, Mom. Now, can we get down to business, or do you want to ask me if I’m getting enough to eat?” Blake forced a smile to smooth the sharp edge of his words. Yes, he’d been away more than around these last few years, but he’d had good reason. He didn’t feel right showing his face in a town where he’d let a serial killer get away. Who would?

“All right.” West nodded. “Cole and I agree the victim fits the profile. Blond hair, blue eyes, petite build.” He circled a wrist, implying Blake knew the rest.

Four women had gone missing during Blake’s rookie year at the bureau, and he’d worked long and hard to find a connection between them when no one else could. Beyond their appearances the women had nothing in common. On the surface. Once Blake had started pulling threads, he found the same toxic creature hidden in all their lives—Nash Barclay. Nash had worked as a maintenance man for the local library system, and each of his victims had frequented a branch where Nash made regular service calls. Blake went to pick him up for questioning, but Nash ran. He’d tried to lose Blake in the labyrinth of industrial park alleys and abandoned factories but Shadow Point was Blake’s home turf, and Nash was soon confronted with the business end of Blake’s department issued Glock. They’d stood ten feet apart on a sprawling asphalt roof at the old tire plant, daring one another to make a move. Nash had taunted him, screaming obscenities until he was red-faced, begged him to shoot or go home, but Blake had been determined to stick to protocols, obey procedures, wait for his partner. He wanted Nash in cuffs, not in the morgue. He’d relived the moment a thousand times, certain he’d done everything right until Nash began to sing.

Nash’s mood had changed in an instant. The violence in his expression had morphed into an eerie smile, and he’d sang. The behavior had successfully fractured Blake’s concentration, and in that splinter of a second, while Blake had pondered the mind of a psychopath, Nash dove headlong over the roof’s edge. He’d landed on the shorter building next door with ease and disappeared behind a massive smokestack. For the last five years, he might as well have been the smoke.

The moment should have ended in an arrest. A victory for justice. It should have catapulted Blake’s budding career. Instead, it had put him on a short list of screw-ups. Worse, his mistake had cost those missing women and their families the justice they deserved. That moment had changed his life and caused him to question everything, especially himself.

“And the song?” Blake asked. “She said he sang the song?”

“Yep.” West leaned closer. “Why don’t we go over things in my office?”

“First, I need coffee.” Blake stepped forward.

West’s arm bobbed up like a guard gate, blocking the conference room doorway. “We should talk first.”

Blake stopped to look more closely at his brother. West never said no to coffee. “Why?”

“Well, I guess because Miss Lane’s eager to meet you.” He twisted his mouth into a knot.

“Great.”

West grinned. “She’d like another crack at the man who attacked her. Thinks you can use her help.”

Blake snorted. “I need a lot of things right now, but help from a little blonde woman isn’t one of them. I need coffee and whatever information you gained from her interview, then I’ll stop by the victim’s place after you’ve debriefed me. See if she’s thought of anything else that can help us.”

West shook his head. “I’m trying to tell you she didn’t go home.”

“Parents’ house?”

“Nope.”

“Well, where’d she go?” Blake cocked a hip, resting a restless hand over the butt of his sidearm. “Boyfriend’s place?” That’d be a first. Nash had specifically chosen single women in the past.

West dropped his arm and tilted his head toward the conference room. “She’s waiting for you.”

“What?” He craned his head for a better look through the doorway. “Why didn’t you send her home?” He dropped his voice to a whisper and checked his watch. “Do you mean to tell me she’s been sitting in there for more than two hours? You should’ve driven her home by now.” He pushed West’s arm out of his way and strode into the conference room. Blake stopped short at the sight of a clearly aggravated woman in running gear.

“I’m not a victim,” she said. “Also, the sheriff tried to send me home, but I’m not one to be sent anywhere, especially when I can be useful. Someone’s trolling the park for women, and I can help.” Her disheveled ponytail was hanging on by threads, but her backbone was straight as an arrow.

Blake’s cheek twitched. He cast an uneasy glance at his brother. “This is Miss Lane?”

West smiled. “I tried to get you to go with me to my office.”

The woman was on her feet and moving in Blake’s direction. “I’m Marissa Lane.” She shoved a little hand his way. “It’s nice to meet you, Agent Garrett. I wish it was under different circumstances.”

Blake agreed. Marissa had managed to shock and impress him in under a minute. A task no one had ever accomplished, and Blake had met a lot of people.

“Miss Lane,” he began in his most calming tone. “Thank you for your willingness to help. You’ve undergone an incredible trauma today, but I’d like to ask you a few more questions. Let me know if you need to stop at any point during the interview. We can take a break or pick up tomorrow. Whatever you’d like. I assume you’ve already told the sheriff everything you can recall.”

“I have.” She nodded. “If I understand correctly, you believe the man who attacked me is responsible for taking several women.”

“It’s a distinct possibility, yes. That’s what I’m here to find out.”

“Well, I have no intention of going home until I’ve told you everything I told your brother and accompanied you back to the park. I’d like to show you where it happened.” She shot a pointed look at Blake’s black dress shoes. “I hope you brought a change of clothes.”

Blake dragged his gaze to the space behind him where West was retreating toward his office.

Blake unbuttoned his suit jacket and took a seat at the large oval table in the room’s center, attempting to regain control of the situation. He cleared his throat and turned his face to the spitfire before him. She certainly looked like Nash’s type. Obviously beautiful. Small features. Narrow frame. The clingy blue jogging pants and matching tank top left little to the imagination in terms of her shape. Blake’s hands could easily cover the span of her waist. A very Southern-debutante appeal, but looks were deceiving. He fought a smile as he imagined the shock Nash must’ve had when this little woman kicked his ass.

“Agent?” Her voice drew him back like a slap in the face.

“Sorry.” Blake shifted on his seat and gauged his words carefully. He also did his best to clear a few unprofessional thoughts from his mind. “The man I’m after is six feet tall, and he’s probably got seventy-five pounds on you.” Give or take the few that five years might have delivered.

Marissa crossed her arms. “And?”

Blake’s cheek twitched again. Twice in ten minutes. She was funny. Did she know she was funny? “How’d you do it?”

“I fought.” Marissa lifted a tuft of fallen hair off her cheek and hooked it over one ear, revealing a thick crimson line along her jawbone and faint purple bruising under the corresponding eye. “He grabbed me. Hit me. Choked me. I used my size against him. Would you like a demonstration?”

Somewhere in the next room, West coughed.

Blake gave the shared wall a dirty look before turning his attention back to Marissa Lane. “That won’t be necessary.” He opened a notebook and clicked his pen to life. “Has anyone evaluated your injuries?”

Marissa nodded. “Cole,” she said.

“Good.”

Cole was the youngest Garrett brother, a former army medic and a certified EMT. He was also a medical school dropout, but he hated when the family brought that up.

“West insisted I choose between Cole or a trip to the ER,” Marissa added. “I figured, at least I know Cole.”

Blake nodded, hoping the fact she had no bandages meant the injuries appeared worse than they actually were.

“Why don’t you have a seat and start by telling me what you remember?”

She turned to pace the room. “I remember being grabbed from behind, hit across the face and nearly dragged into the forest. The assailant was your brother’s height, West’s, not Cole’s.” She waved a dismissive hand. “I went to high school with them. Never dreamed they’d become the town sheriff and deputy, but I guess I should have. Whatever happened to Ryder?”

“He’s a US Marshal.”

She cocked an eyebrow, as if to say more on the topic, but shook her head and stayed on task. “The lunatic was singing that old song. ‘Going to the Chapel’.”

Blake tapped his pen against the notepad. He’d have to ask how well she knew his brothers later. He’d left for college before they’d started high school. A curious sense of frustration knotted inside him.

Marissa dropped her arms to her sides. “Did you always want to work for the FBI?”

“No.” The Garretts were a family of law enforcement and everyone in Cade County knew it, but Blake never wanted to be sheriff. Though there was a certain pressure for Blake to conform, he’d wanted to do something bigger than hand out traffic tickets and break up marital disputes. He’d gone as far as to finish his law degree, dreaming of a judgeship, before the allure of a shiny badge had caught up with him. Something about those coveted initials, FBI, had changed his life plan without warning.

Marissa leaned her slender backside against the table and crossed her ankles. Soft, distracting scents of coconut and pineapple lifted off her. “Whoever he was, I caught him off guard. I left him on his back by the lake and ran until I saw a car. I flagged the guy down and asked him to drop me off here. My car’s still at the base camp parking lot. I had to run in the opposite direction, and I was afraid to double back. I can pick it up when we go see the crime scene.”

* * *

THE SWOON-WORTHY AGENT stretched onto his feet and loomed over Marissa. His sharp blue eyes cut a line across her bruised face, lingering at her equally sore collarbone before returning to her eyes. “Fine. We can talk more on the way.”

He patted a rhythm on the wall, and his brothers appeared. “Give me five minutes to change, then follow us up to the lake.”

The men exchanged looks and broke off in three separate directions.

Several minutes later, Blake returned in a pair of low-slung jeans, military boots and a slate-gray T-shirt. He’d screwed a plain navy ball cap over his thick dark hair and covered his serious blue eyes with tinted aviators. An impressive FBI badge completed the look. “Time to saddle up.”

Marissa followed a line of Garrett men to their cars. She smoothed her hair and straightened her shirt, uncertain if the bubbling of nerves in her core was caused by a return to the crime scene or something else entirely. Plenty of women’s daydreams had begun like this in Shadow Point. Alone with multiple uniformed Garretts. Fortunately, Marissa had spent four years of high school learning about the inevitable heartbreak a lady could expect from any one of those unbelievably attractive packages. What she couldn’t figure out was why Blake Garrett had thrown her off balance? The others didn’t faze her, but they also didn’t command a room with their presence the way Blake did. If she remembered correctly, he was just four years older than West. Five years older than her. He’d left town long before she’d thought about guys beyond their inability to beat her at anything at all.

The men stopped beside a big black pickup. The truck hadn’t been in the lot when Marissa arrived. Blake pointed a fob in the truck’s direction and the locks popped up. “Miss Lane?” He extended his hand. “Boost?”

Why not? She grabbed the open door frame in one hand and placed her opposite palm on Blake’s. His warm, calloused skin sent a jolt of electricity through her. Blake closed strong fingers over hers and waited as she bounced into the cab.

The door snapped shut behind her, and the Garretts circled up, speaking too low for her to understand. The men seemed to take turns examining her through the closed window. Blake adjusted his ball cap a few times before breaking free from the group and swinging into the driver’s seat.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“No.” He slid his eyes in her direction briefly, checked the rearview, and gunned the engine to life. “Someone attacked you today. That’s a big problem, and I plan to fix it.”


Chapter Two (#u07ab4e56-a05f-5785-91d7-792d74028b0d)

Blake slowed his truck at the national park entrance where a line of cars blocked the gate. A park ranger moved car to car, waving his hands and pointing toward the exit.

“What the hell?” Blake powered his window down and shoved an elbow over the frame. He tipped his head through the open window. “Hey, what’s going on?”

The ranger, still two cars away, shot him a dirty look and continued arguing with the driver of a rusted hatchback.

Blake shifted into Park and climbed down from the cab. He gave Marissa an authoritative stare. “Stay put.”

She released her seat belt and twisted on the seat, scanning the scene outside. A big white van with a satellite on top came into view, along with a cluster of people and cameras. “This day keeps getting worse.”

“What?” Blake peered over the crush of stalled vehicles. “The reporter?”

“I think the good Samaritan who drove me to the sheriff’s department is being interviewed by that news crew.”

“Sonofa—” Blake slammed his door and headed into the chaos. His FBI shield bounced against his chest on a beaded metal chain. “Hey,” he called again, “what’s this about?”

The ranger sagged in relief. He motioned to Blake’s badge. “Sorry. I didn’t know you were FBI. It’s pandemonium up here.”

“You want to fill me in?” Blake asked.

“Some guy showed up with a news crew an hour ago. He says a woman was attacked here this morning. They aired a live interview snippet, and people started pouring in to have a look at the crime scene. Campers are scared. Some are leaving. The phone won’t stop ringing.”

Blake could barely hear the phone inside the little guard booth. He climbed onto a massive tree stump painted with the park hours and strained for a better look at the crowd near the white van. A man in Dickies and flannel stood beside a woman Blake recognized from the Channel Six News team. If that man hadn’t saved Marissa, Blake would’ve been tempted to escort him out of the park violently.

The ranger fixed Blake with an expectant look. “What should we do?”

As if on cue, the sheriff’s cruiser rolled into view, bouncing through the grass alongside a line of waiting cars. Blake whistled and waved to his brothers as West angled between the guard gate and overcrowded lot. No other cars would get in until he moved.

Cole jumped out. “We’ve got this. You got her?” He flicked his gaze to Blake’s truck.

Blake nodded and shook the ranger’s hand, eager to get back to Marissa. “Sheriff and Deputy Garrett will take it from here.” He jogged back to the truck and climbed inside. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

“Good.” He wrenched his truck free from the line and parked it in the grass beside the news van.

He pocketed the keys and turned for Marissa. “Ready?” The alarm in her eyes stunned him into silence. She’d put on a brave face at the station, but there was no confidence in her expression now. A distant part of him longed to comfort her somehow, but that wasn’t his place. She probably had a long line of people waiting to fold her into their arms and ease her fear. Blake’s job was to stop a madman.

She turned weary eyes on him. “Yes.”

“Don’t worry.” The statement was out before he’d thought better of it. Then, already heading downhill, he made it worse. “I won’t let him hurt you again.” The words soured on his tongue. How could he promise to protect her? He’d let Nash get away once already. Wasn’t it technically his fault that Nash had gotten ahold of her at all?

Marissa lifted her chin and rolled her shoulders back. “Thank you for saying so, but I’m not afraid.” The lie was evident in the lines gathered across her forehead, but Blake didn’t argue.

He climbed out and met Marissa on her side of the truck. “Why don’t you take me to where you left him?”

“Sure.” Marissa led the way down a gravel and mud path from Blake’s makeshift parking spot to the trailhead. “I started here around five thirty.”

“Miss?” A woman’s voice carried over the drone of the crowd. “Miss? Excuse me.” The Channel Six reporter hurried in Marissa’s direction waving a microphone. Her pink dress suit and pearls were sorely out of place in the park. Her pointy heels sank into the ground with each hurried step. Worse, she wasn’t alone. She was a mama duck, trailed by her cameraman, the guy who’d driven Marissa to the station and a row of nosy locals craning to get a look at the victim.

Marissa made a soft squeaky noise and Blake’s hackles rose. He widened his stance and lifted a palm in the reporter’s direction. “Stop right there.”

“Absolutely.” She fluffed her hair and straightened her jacket. “I’m Linda Somers, Channel Six News. And you are?” She eyeballed the badge around his neck. A sugary-sweet smile curved her lips.

The cameraman positioned himself near a tree and hoisted the camera onto one shoulder, arranging his shot. A little red light blinked at the side of his lens. He gave Linda a thumbs-up.

Her smile widened. “Are you here to investigate this morning’s attack, Federal Agent...” She left the sentence hanging.

“That’s Blake Garrett,” someone called from the crowd. “He’s the sheriff’s brother.”

Damn small towns. Blake ground his teeth. “Please direct your questions to Sheriff Garrett.”

“Is this the victim?” she asked. Pencil-thin eyebrows rose behind her bangs.

The man who’d called this fiasco into action nodded. “Yeah. That’s her. I found her running along the county road, crying.”

“You’re certain?” the reporter asked.

“Positive. I wouldn’t forget picking up a lady dressed like that.”

Marissa wrapped both arms around her middle and glared at the man. Her outfit might not be camera ready, but she was dressed appropriately for a run, which was likely the only thing she’d expected to do before her shower.

Blake groaned. “She has no comment.” He moved between Marissa and the reporter.

The cameraman honed in on them.

“What’s your name, Miss?” Linda asked. “Are you from Cade County? Do you come here often? How long have you known Federal Agent Garrett?”

Heat from Marissa’s body warmed his side. Her fingers pressed against his back as she stepped into view of the mob forming along the trailhead. He should’ve guessed she’d refuse to stay behind him. Fire churned in his gut. The bigmouthed reporter had taken the only tactical advantage Blake had over Nash—surprise. Now, Nash would know Blake was there, and the games would begin again before Blake was ready.

Blake scanned the crowd for his enemy. What if seeing him with Marissa fueled Nash’s need to get his hands on her again? What if Blake’s presence put her in more danger? As if the fact she’d gotten away wasn’t reason enough for him to come at her again.

West and Cole arrived a moment later, waving their badges and hollering instructions at the crowd.

“That’s our cue.” Blake wound his fingers around Marissa’s wrist and tugged. “Let them take care of the crowd. Let’s get back to what we came for.”

* * *

MARISSA TOOK THE LEAD, but her stomach protested the trip, and her limbs strained against her. Instinct begged her never to return to the place where she’d nearly been abducted, but resolve pushed her forward. Whether she wanted to go or not was irrelevant. Who knew how many more women would be in danger if the man who grabbed her wasn’t caught? Images of the awful moments flooded her mind, lifting the fine hairs along the back of her neck, and resurrecting another memory. A shiver rolled through her.

“What’s wrong?” Blake’s voice was low and cautious.

She scrubbed a hand over her lips. “I’m not sure. Maybe nothing.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“There was a man who tossed bread crumbs into the lake this summer. He was always there when I came back from my morning runs. That guy had a black hoodie like the man I saw today at the lookout. I know it’s not much, and everyone owns a black hoodie, but it could be something, right?”

“Anything could be something. You saw him more than once?”

She squinted against the brilliant sunlight, desperate for a more useful memory or detail. “He was there every morning for a while. Then, one day he just wasn’t.”

“Did he see you?”

“I think so. I’m hard to miss after five miles up and down a mountain.” She heaved a sigh. “I probably looked a lot like this, except swinging my arms to cool down from the jog.” Marissa plucked stringy bangs off her forehead and groaned inwardly. For the first time since she’d arrived at the station, she was fiercely self-conscious. Why hadn’t she at least combed her hair or washed her face while she’d waited on Blake to arrive? It was bad enough she was bruised and dirty. She didn’t have to be a disheveled nightmare, too. “I’m a mess.”

“You’ve gone over ten miles on foot today and fought off a man twice your size. I think you get a pass.”

So, he agreed. She was a mess. She pulled her ponytail down and shook her hair out, raking fingers through the tangles. She stopped moving when the lake came into view.

Shadow Valley Lake was nearly eighteen square miles of water, much of it surrounded by tall grasses, angry geese and a well-beaten path courtesy of Cade County fishermen. Her apple, now covered in ants, lay in the grass near a massive oak tree. “I was there. Eating that apple.” She regretted leaving the trash behind. “I’ll take that with me when I leave this time.”

Blake examined the ground near her apple. “The apple’s evidence now. Look.” He pushed the grass back and forth with his shoe, revealing two sets of imprints. Her Nikes and a pair of boots. He hovered his foot near the larger print. He fished his cell phone from one pocket and took pictures of the discovery.

Emotion coiled in Marissa’s gut. Her eyes stung, and her bottom lip trembled. She sipped cool air and forced her mind away from the vivid memories clawing at her heart. “The man with the bread crumbs was always right there.” She pointed to a crescent of mud and rock at the massive lake’s edge.

They moved toward the spot. Boot imprints striped the soft earth, as if he’d been pacing. “Do you see those?” she asked.

“Yep.” He snapped another picture. “Same tread pattern as the prints by your apple.”

Marissa bit into her thumbnail. No one had been at the lake on her predawn trip up the mountain, and she hadn’t seen anyone when she sat under the tree to enjoy her apple.

Blake scanned the area with sharp, trained eyes. He mumbled something under his breath and raised his phone again, this time for a picture of the lake.

Marissa followed his icy stare to a sprinkling of white flecks on the glassy surface. “Is that bread?”

“No.” Blake turned his phone over and tapped the screen. “Those are white rose petals.”

Marissa wrinkled her nose. “There aren’t any white roses in the park.”

“Hey,” Blake growled into the phone, now pressed to his ear. “Get me a cast kit. We’ve got pattern evidence at the lake.” He disconnected and gripped the cell phone in his palm. “Any chance the man you saw here a few months ago could’ve been tossing these onto the water instead of bread crumbs?”

“Maybe. Why? What do they mean?” She tried to hide the fear settling in her bones.

Blake rubbed the back of his neck. “The fugitive I’ve been chasing left white rose petals on the doorstep of his victims’ homes.”

“I’m guessing you don’t think these petals are a coincidence.” Marissa’s stomach sank as she watched the little white boats skating across the serene water.

Blake snapped more pictures of the petals. “I don’t believe in coincidence.”

Well, they had that in common. She turned away and closed her eyes, engaging painful memories. “He was singing ‘Going to the Chapel’ and leaves roses. Does he have a fantasy about marrying his victims?”

“I don’t know. He wasn’t very forthcoming when I tried to haul him in, and we never found the women, but I assume this is all part of some sick fetish. He lost a girlfriend to suicide about a year before he took his first victim.”

Marissa opened her eyes and headed back to her fallen apple. She worked methodically around the grass, parting the blades with her shoe like Blake had. Maybe she could find a clue, too. Something Blake could send to the crime lab where his science and tech people worked.

Something moved in the distance. A few seconds later, Cole appeared with a backpack.

“How well do you know Cole?” Blake asked. He stopped a few feet ahead of her and waved to his brother. “You went to school together. Anything else?”

“Not really.” She tented her brows. Was she being accused of something? “We live in a small town and went to the same high school. We ran into each other from time to time. West and Ryder, too.”

Blake turned at the waist and narrowed his eyes on her. She knew all three of his little brothers, but he hadn’t met her until today? A nagging sense of injustice registered at the back of his mind.

“What?” She bounced her toe against something hard, and a little navy pouch flipped into view. “Hey, look at this.” Marissa crouched over the object. Recognition swept through her like a hurricane, sucking air from her lungs and pushing her attention in a new direction. She stood on wooden legs and stared at the tranquil lake behind them.

“What is that?” Blake crouched where she had been a moment before.

Marissa pressed a palm to her roiling stomach. She owned several pouches just like that one. “It’s a one-pound weight. They’re used on scuba belts.”

Cole settled in beside Blake and handed him the backpack.

Marissa pushed windblown hair from her eyes while the men bagged their evidence. Blades of ice seemed to wedge in her chest. “I know where he might’ve hidden those women’s bodies. I’d planned to do a photo shoot there soon.”

“Where?” the Garretts asked in near unison.

She lifted a finger toward the lake. The rose petals. The creepy song. “I think they’re in Shadow Valley.” Cade County’s historic lake town, submerged long ago in the name of flood control.

* * *

BLAKE MADE THE necessary calls to rouse a dive crew and the remainder of his team from Louisville. The agents arrived in just over an hour. The divers were another story, being parceled together from approved volunteers across the state, policemen, game wardens, anyone trained and available to thoroughly explore the remnants of an entire underwater town, door by door if necessary, while preserving as much potential evidence as possible. He’d also called in a favor with a local private security firm for additional help clearing the park and tending the curious crowd, which had been pushed outside the gates.

The space around the normally tranquil lake bustled with speculation and activity. Once all the divers arrived, things would get worse, and if Marissa’s hunch was right, more gruesome.

Her hunch. Not his.

Blake mentally kicked himself for never considering Shadow Valley Lake as a place to hide four bodies. If memory served, the Shadow Valley Chapel was one of the buildings swallowed by the lake. Finding victims in the underwater chapel would raise the stakes impossibly higher. That kind of discovery would suggest Nash was smarter and more resourceful than Blake had given him credit for. He’d always assumed Nash was the impulsive type, more likely to hide his crimes in a hurry than with careful planning and scuba gear. In fact, he’d considered Nash lucky for getting away at all. He’d blamed his own rookie hesitation.

Blake pressed the heels of his hands against closed eyes. What if Blake had been wrong all these years? What if the real mistake he’d made was underestimating Nash? The possibility came with all sorts of ugly thoughts. Blake had linked him to four missing women, but what if there were more? How many cases hadn’t he connected? What had Nash been doing these last five years while Blake chased his tail? Blake had assumed Nash was hiding, but what if Nash was still killing and Blake had missed it?

He scrubbed open palms over his face and forehead. How long had Nash been planning to take Marissa?

His attention cut through the collection of lawmen to where she rested her head against an oak tree not far from the lake. Her swollen eyes were shut. Her cheeks were red. The bruises from her attack had grown more pronounced as the day wore on, making Blake angrier with each passing second. He couldn’t seem to find it in himself to be thankful she was safe. He could only grow more infuriated that she’d been hurt.

She opened her eyes as he approached, a look of shock and panic on her face.

He lifted a hand and crouched beside her. “It’s only me. How are you holding up?”

“Fine.” Her knees bobbed with misplaced adrenaline. “Anything new?”

“The rest of the divers should be here soon, but it’s a big lake. It’s going to take them some time to search an entire town.”

She sat forward, hugging bent knees to her chest. “I have street maps for the town under the lake at my place. I could go get them. I’d hoped to take photos for a magazine interested in doing a spread on lake towns. The maps could save the divers time.”

Blake rested his forearms across his thighs, dangling both hands between his knees. “We have the town blueprint. Right now, the divers are fighting daylight to get here, and they haven’t got much left.” He stretched onto his feet and extended a hand to hoist her up. “How do you feel about taking a walk while we wait?”

She accepted his hand. “Where are we going?”

“You said you saw a man at the lookout. We should get up there while the park’s closed to visitors.” He motioned for her to lead the way.

Marissa stopped at the base of Sunrise Trail. She cocked a hip and stared up the dirt path. Uncertainty flashed in her eyes. “I didn’t get a good look at the guy up there, but he smelled like cigarette smoke.” She braced a hand to her forehead like a visor and squinted against the sun. “The man who attacked me also smelled like smoke, but I suppose that’s hardly enough to conclude it was the same man.”

“Do you think it was the same man?”

She cast her gaze to the ground. “I do.”

Blake motioned her forward. “That’s good enough for me.”

She took a deep breath and began her second five-mile uphill hike of the day. At least this time she wasn’t running. “I was a little spooked to see someone at the lookout before dawn. Confused, too. My car was the only one in the lot.”

Blake turned an amused expression on her. “You hiked five miles before dawn.” He shook his head in apparent awe. “You’re making me regret the coffee and cruller breakfast I had on my way here from Louisville.”

Marissa smiled. “Well, if it helps, I didn’t hike. I ran.”

He laughed. “Oh, yeah. That makes me feel much better. Thank you.”

She fell into a comfortable stride and inhaled deeply, finding as much inner peace as possible on this horrific day. “I run every morning, but three days a week I do it here. I like the view, and I normally enjoy the solitude.” She bit her lip against the tirade that had been swirling in her mind for the past few hours. “I knew something was wrong. I knew it, and I didn’t leave.”

Blake stopped moving and stared at her. “You couldn’t have known. Even if you had, you weren’t at fault here. Don’t let that worm get into your head. From what I can tell, you did everything right, and if this man is who I think he is, you’re the first to get away. You should be proud of yourself.”

“Really? Because it was pride that kept me here when my instincts told me to go home. It was pride that took me to the lake for my reward.”

“Reward?”

She groaned. “It’s stupid, but I beat my best time getting to the lookout, and I’d planned to reward myself by watching the sunrise. I was mad that I’d let his presence keep me from enjoying the view.” She dropped her head back and laughed. “So instead of getting in my car, I made a side trip to the lake. I was that close to leaving unharmed.”

Blake’s face darkened. “This wasn’t your fault. I don’t care if he shook your hand and said, ‘I’m going to attack you unless you go home.’ He’s still the criminal. He’s the one in the wrong. Not you.”

Marissa stepped over a fallen branch. “Thanks, but it’s hard not to think about what I could’ve done differently.”

Patchy sunlight filtered through the lush forest canopy. A soft breeze kicked up, lifting scents of shampoo and sweat from Blake’s body.

Marissa shook her thoughts back to the situation at hand. “Can you tell me more about Nash? That’s his name, right?” Her hand moved instinctually to her throat. She blinked through the fresh sting of tears. “I’ve heard you and your brothers use it, but no one’s filled me in on the specifics.”

“I linked Nash to the disappearances of four women about five years ago. The missing women were never recovered, but I know he took them. I saw it in his eyes when I confronted him.” His square jawline popped and clenched. Whatever he wasn’t sharing was painful and Marissa’s heart hurt for him, too.

“What does he look like?” Marissa asked.

Blake cast her a sidelong glance. “I’ll show you a picture when we get back. I would’ve done that at the station but West said you didn’t see the man who attacked you.”

“I didn’t. I thought a description might jar my memory about the man at the lake last summer.”

Blake glanced over his shoulder. “Nash has brown hair and eyes. He’s six foot. Average weight, but no definition. He wasn’t much to look at. No distinguishing marks, scars or tattoos. Of course, that was a while back. A lot could have happened since then.”

“Was he a smoker?”

“Yes.”

Ice curled through Marissa’s body. She’d been in the grips of a serial killer. The bruises on her face and throat throbbed at the thought. She pressed cool fingers against the aching pains.

“I’m going to find him.” Blake’s voice cracked the last ounce of composure Marissa had.

A hot, fat tear broke over her cheek and slid onto her jaw. Then another.

“Hey.” Blake stopped climbing. “Miss Lane.” He caught her trembling hand in his as she took another step without him. He squeezed gently before releasing her.

She swiped shaky fingertips across both eyelids before daring to look back. “I’m fine. Please call me Marissa.”

“You’re not fine, Marissa, but you’re going to be. I’m going to find this guy. I won’t let him get away again.” He lifted a white handkerchief in her direction.

The sincerity in Blake’s voice warmed her, and the sound of her name on his lips settled her fraying nerves. “I know.” She accepted the handkerchief and pressed it to her eyes, thankful for his comforting presence. “Who carries a handkerchief?”

“Me. All of us.” He fumbled for words, clearly uncomfortable telling her something so personal. “My brothers and I.”

Apparently, even that legendary Garrett confidence wasn’t bulletproof. Marissa smiled behind the soft cotton material, enjoying the aromatic blend of Blake’s soap and cologne caught in the wispy fabric. “I see.” She returned his quizzical glance. “Why?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“It’s a long hike.”

Blake turned his face to her and smiled. Not another lazy effort like he’d offered her before, but a true smile that reached his eyes and scaled the years away.

She’d found Blake devastatingly handsome as a straight-faced agent, but the smiling man beneath the badge was so much more. His ability to show such charm and compassion on a day as cursed as this was enough to weaken her knees. “I’d love to know, and honestly, I could use the distraction.”

He paused to look her in the eye. “Our granddad gave those to us when we were small. None of us used them until his funeral a few years back, but we all carried them to the service. That was the day I started bringing mine everywhere.” He looked away, into the forest, seemingly lost in the memory.

“You carry a piece of him,” she mused. “That’s sweet.”

He extended his hand. “Give me my hanky.”

She set the cloth in his hand with a smile. “You aren’t what you seem, Federal Agent Garrett.”

“Folks rarely are.”


Chapter Three (#u07ab4e56-a05f-5785-91d7-792d74028b0d)

There was nothing to see at the lookout. No clues. No boot prints. It was a five-mile walk for bust. Frustration churned in Blake’s chest as he mentally replayed the morning’s events. Every clue pointed directly to his nemesis, a maniac he’d dedicated years to finding. Where are you, Nash? Blake’s muscles tensed as another terrible thought came to mind. “We need to go.”

“What? Why?” Marissa followed him back down the trail at a clip. “What’s happening? Did you find something?”

Blake slowed his pace by a fraction, adjusting for her shorter gait. “When was the last time you were home?”

“This morning. I left around five.”

He furrowed his brow. “The rose petals.”

“You want to see if he left them on my doorstep.” She bobbed her head in understanding. “Well, that’s completely terrifying.”

Blake slowed further. “You should probably pack a bag while we’re there and make plans to stay with family for a few nights.”

“Do you really think he’d come for me again? He has to know you’re on to him. It was broadcast on the news.”

“He’ll come.”

“But you were standing right beside me on the air.”

“Exactly.”

Marissa marched silently for several paces. “Fine, but I’m not dragging my family into this. I’ll stay somewhere else.”

Blake’s eyes widened. “Haven’t you told them what’s happening?”

“Of course.” She’d called her parents the minute she’d arrived at the sheriff’s department and again while Blake had organized his team. “I told them everything I knew this morning, which was that a lunatic nearly abducted me in the park. Then, I filled them in on the possibility of a fugitive at large and warned my sister to stay out of the park. Dad caught the news, so he knows I’m with you. My sister’s been checking in by text every hour or so to make sure I’m still out here. Still safe.”

Blake scowled. “So, stay with them.”

“And paint a big red X on their door? No thank you. I’m not leading a psychopath straight to my family.”

“Well, you can’t stay at your place.”

“Fine, but I won’t stay with my parents or sister either. That’ll have to be good enough.” Five quiet miles later, she hooked a left at the trail’s base and headed for the parking lot.

Blake fired up his truck and followed her older model mud-soaked Jeep down the county road through town at just over the speed limit until houses faded into farms and farms gave way to forest. She slowed at a partially hidden drive and turned onto a narrow gravel road. His truck bounced and rocked along behind her for several minutes before a small clearing came into view.

A log cabin was situated among the trees with a portion of somewhat flat land serving as her front and back yards. Flower baskets and wind chimes hung from the porch roof and a pair of rocking chairs stood sentinel beside the door.

He met her on the porch, gun drawn. No rose petals, but the front window was open, leaving her sheer white curtains to flutter.

“Do you normally leave this open?”

“No.” Marissa’s fearful gaze was latched to the parted window frame. “I always check the windows before bed, and I didn’t open any this morning.”

Blake ran cautious fingertips around the wooden trim, stopping at the first patch of splintering, a discreet but telltale sign of tampering. He sent a text to West. They needed a deputy for fingerprints. Normally, he’d suggest the deputy talk to Marissa’s neighbors, but she didn’t have any.

Marissa lifted her house key on trembling fingers, and he slid it into the still locked door. With any luck, Nash was hunkered down inside, feeling overly confident and about to be reunited with his maker.

He raised a flat palm between them. “Wait here.”

Marissa followed him inside and pulled the door shut.

He gave her a warning look. “I told you to wait outside.”

Her pale skin and flushed cheeks said what she wouldn’t. Marissa was scared.

Blake’s need for vengeance warred momentarily with his desire to erase the terrified expression from her face. “Stay close.”

She crossed the floor on silent feet, thanking him with wide blue eyes. Her small pink lips were pressed tight. He cleared the front room and kitchen, then crept into the narrow hallway separating her living space from the rest of the home. So far, every window in the house was open.

“What was that?” Marissa pressed her fingers against his waist.

Blake froze as something moved in the next room. He set his hand on the doorknob and motioned Marissa to step back. Slowly, she uncurled her fingers from the fabric of his shirt and inched away. With the flick of Blake’s wrist, the door flung open, and he rushed inside. “Clear.” Blake was alone in a brightly colored utility room, surrounded by murals of birds in trees and yellow rays of sunshine.

Marissa poked her head into the room. “Nothing?”

The curtain ruffled, and she jumped. White eyelet lace rubbed the curled pages of a worn paperback on the sill.

Blake pushed the fabric aside for a look into the backyard. “How many more rooms?”

“Three. A bathroom next door and two bedrooms across the hall.”

They moved in tandem through the next two rooms, both small, cheerfully decorated and void of Nash. The last door was several paces beyond the others and closed. Marissa gasped. “I didn’t close that door.”

Blake squared his shoulders, and Marissa fell back again. He shoved the final door open, and a slew of swear words lodged on his tongue.

Marissa padded into the room a moment later. “Oh, no.”

A wedding veil was strewn across Marissa’s bed and surrounded by hundreds of white rose petals. The soft scent raised bile in Blake’s throat.

Marissa curved one hand over her mouth and pressed the other to her stomach, as if she might be sick.

Without thinking, he pulled her against his chest and wound protective arms around her back. She curled against him and buried her face into her palms. Warmth and resolve blew through him in a powerful gale. “You’re going to be okay. I’m going to see to it.”

His phone buzzed, and Marissa stepped aside. A text message from West confirmed that a deputy was on his way with a print kit for the window.

Blake snapped a photo of Marissa’s bed, then texted it to his team and brothers. They were going to need more than a print kit.

“Can you tell me if anything else was altered, missing or left behind?” He moved methodically through the room in search of something that could lead him to Nash.

Marissa scrutinized the room, moving slowly from closet to night stand and dresser before creeping softly toward the bed. “Just this,” she whispered, as if she might wake the sleeping veil. “Why would he do this?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he hoped to meet you back here.” He regretted the words immediately and hated Nash all the more for the truth behind them.

Her eyes widened in horror. “Meet me back here for what?”

Blake’s tongue seemed to swell as a line of horrific ideas presented themselves. Too many years on the job and in the military had irrevocably polluted his thoughts. Now, he saw danger everywhere.

Marissa backed away from the bed and freed a duffel bag from her closet. “He came here after I got away.”

“Yes.” Blake swallowed a brick of regret. If only he’d shot Nash when he’d had the chance.

“We were looking for him at the park, and he was here.”

The words, I’m sorry, filled Blake’s heart and mind, trapped behind a much stronger will to stay focused and do the job this time. Apologies could come when Marissa was safe and Nash was behind bars or dead. Preferably the latter for what he’d put her through.

Marissa filled the bag with clothes, opening and closing drawers, shoving handfuls of random items into the canvas duffel without looking.

Scents of powder and vanilla surrounded them, distracting Blake in dangerous and unprofessional ways. “We can wait outside in my truck.” He scooped a pair of white lace panties up as they hit the floor beneath her gaping bag. He passed the soft scrap of material to Marissa, doing his best not to picture her in only those. “You don’t have to stay in here with this.” He tipped his head toward her bed.

She stuffed the panties into her bag and opened another drawer. “Thanks.” Her cheeks reddened as their gazes locked.

“I’m going to check the perimeter.”

“No.” Alarm changed her features. “Don’t.”

“It’s okay.” Blake infused the words with as much promise as possible. “You’re safe with me, and I’ll make sure to keep you that way.”

She dipped her chin and went back to stuffing things blindly into her bag.

Blake circled the home’s exterior and returned to Marissa several minutes later. A fresh text had arrived. “The team secured a room for us at the Blue Ridge Lodge outside of town. We know now that you were targeted. That makes you safer with us until we find Nash, and we will find him.”

She gnawed her bottom lip. “One room?”

“It’ll be crowded but secure. My team and brothers will come and go as the investigation moves along. And don’t worry, contrary to local legend, the Garrett men were raised to be gentlemen.”

She pinned him with a fiercely ornery smile. “I was raised to be a princess. Look how that turned out. I’m about to spend the night with a man I just met.”

He shot the ceiling another look and rearranged his ball cap. If the job didn’t kill him, protecting Marissa Lane might.

* * *

MARISSA COULDN’T DROP the creepy sensation of being watched. Knowing a psychopath had been in her room had shaken her far worse than the attempted abduction. At least during the attack, she was aware of his presence, but he’d been inside her home. He’d been in her room. The contents of her overnight bag grew heavy on her lap. Had he looked inside her drawers? Touched her things? How long had he been planning to take her? How did he find her home? Endless questions ran rampant through her mind as she bounced on the passenger side of Blake’s truck, feeling thoroughly violated.

Blake pulled into the parking spot beside a black town car at Blue Ridge Lodge and climbed out. He shook hands with a man in a gray suit standing outside the door to room one-eleven. They looked at Marissa through the windshield, mouths moving, eyes appraising.

She redirected her attention to the scenery. Blue Ridge Lodge was gorgeous and nestled in the mountains where she’d practiced rock climbing and spelunking throughout high school. She’d long ago mastered the climbs and adventures the area had to offer, but back in the day, those hills were a great source of victory and self-confidence. If only she’d taken more photos of the excursions.

Blake lumbered toward the passenger door and pulled it open. “How are you holding up?”

She ducked her chin. “Okay.”

Sympathy swam in his eyes. He moved away from the open door so she could climb down. “There’s nothing we can do until the last of the divers arrive except keep you out of sight. The sheriff’s department’s on the lookout for Nash. My men are canvassing local hotels and campgrounds along with abandoned buildings and cabins. If Nash is still in Cade County, we’ll find him.”

Blake stole the duffel from her hand and hooked it over one broad shoulder. “Let’s go inside. Neither of us have eaten since breakfast and that was one hell of a walk you took me on. Let me order dinner. We’ll eat, and hopefully you can get a little rest while we’re waiting on a new lead.”

Marissa sank her teeth into the thick of her bottom lip and immediately released it. She was too late. Blake’s gaze slid from her mouth to her eyes. He’d noticed her tell. He knew she was nervous. She could lie all day with her tongue, but she had no control over her face. “Okay. Dinner sounds good.” As did a hot shower and fresh clothes. “Thank you.”

She followed him inside the roomy junior suite. A small sitting area with a round table, chairs, couch and television were separated from the bedroom and en suite bath by a set of French doors. Marissa dragged her gaze away from the queen-size bed with notable effort. She told herself it was the fatigue in her bones that wanted her to head that way first, not the small tug in her belly that wondered if Blake preferred to be the big spoon or the little spoon.

He edged past her with the duffel and set it on the bed. “Burgers okay?”

She nodded too quickly, a sure sign of guilt. “Yeah. Good. Thank you. I’m going to shower.” She snatched up the bag and hustled into the bathroom.

Safe behind the closed door, Marissa shed her dirty clothes and climbed into the steamy shower. Hot beads of water pounded against her tired, aching muscles, and she rubbed her eyes as the water ran over her face. The sensation did little to cleanse her mind of numerous inappropriate thoughts about Blake Garrett, the man who set her skin on fire with every smoldering look. She squeezed a dollop of shampoo onto her palm and worked her hair into a lather. Marissa was never plagued by so many inconceivable fantasies. The problem was obviously this awful day. Her emotions were too heightened to share a hotel room with that man. The excess adrenaline and fatigue were producing crazy thoughts. And why was there only one bed?

She rinsed the soap from her hair and body, clearing her skin and mind. There was no chemistry between she and Blake. She’d imagined his heated looks as a means of distraction, a psychological defense mechanism to deal with what had happened that morning. Clearly her subconscious assumed that if the hot FBI agent wanted her, then he’d protect her and she could feel safe.

She stepped onto the bath mat and wrapped a soft terry-cloth towel around her torso. Even if the looks Blake gave her were real, they didn’t mean anything other than he was in possession of a libido. It was practically what the Garretts were known for. And so what? She rubbed her arms and legs vigorously with a second towel. Blake might want her. Short-term, of course. His family was single-minded and the whole town knew it. Married to the endless pursuit of justice. Addicted to the chase. Which was likely the reason Blake hadn’t settled down. He probably wondered where the fun was in pairing up for life. Marissa expected that was where the fun really began, but what did she know?

She wound her hair into the second towel and rubbed a clear spot on the steamed-up mirror. Tears welled in her eyes at the sight of her bruised face and throat. Her heart pounded with fresh panic, as if Nash were still with her, pawing at her and looking at her and plotting to kill her if she didn’t keep fighting. She swallowed a sob and turned to sit on the floor, back pressed to the door as tears streamed over her cheeks. No, this wasn’t a day for finding love. This was a day best forgotten.

Thirty minutes later, Marissa dragged herself from the bathroom, clean and dry. Her blond hair fell in soft piles over each shoulder, fluffy from the efforts of a complimentary dryer. She hadn’t packed much makeup, but the lip gloss and mascara had helped her feel a little more human and less hideous despite the raging bruises along her jaw and throat.

Blake’s body went rigid when he saw her.

The room was empty, save for a pair of white takeout bags on the little round table near the front window.

Marissa stared, unmoving. “What’s wrong?”

Blake snapped into action, waving her closer to the table “Nothing. The final divers arrived while you were in the shower. My team went to meet them, but the sun’s setting soon and they’ve postponed until morning. My guys are filling the divers in on what to look for and anything else they need to know. West and Cole have promised to keep me updated on their end.” He settled into a red cushioned chair. “Now, we wait.”

“Will I get to talk to your team when they come back?” She shifted her weight foot to foot. “Not that I plan to badger them or get in the way. I just wonder if I’ll be exiled to the bedroom while you talk shop.”

“We won’t say anything that you can’t hear.”

Meaning they’d wait until she wasn’t around to talk about the classified details, not that they’d be open with her about everything. She mulled that over. “Okay.” She didn’t love being excluded from any information so closely affecting her, but she had to trust Blake to do his job.

“I ordered burgers, fries and malts.” His brows furrowed. “Do you eat this stuff?”

“Comfort food? Absolutely.”

He unpacked the bag and set her burger and fries in front of her.

One whiff was all her body needed to recall its desperation for sustenance. She unraveled the butcher paper and chomped into her sandwich like a ravenous animal.

Blake watched her intently. “I’m feeling less guilty for that cruller. I suppose running five miles uphill before dawn seven days a week earns you plenty of room for burgers.”

She sucked her straw flat, working a taste of chocolate malt into her mouth. “I’ve got good genes.”

“The running doesn’t hurt,” he added. “You hike, bike, swim and scuba?”

“I leaned to scuba dive in college. I did crazy things then. I even tried parasailing and rock climbing.” She chuckled. “I learned that I prefer to be on the ground.”

He pushed a fry between smiling lips. “I’ve never done any of those things, and I’ve always thought of myself as an outdoorsman. You’re raising the bar.”

“You’ll get used to it,” she teased. “Adventuring is my job.”

“Nature photography, right?”

She wiped her mouth and examined Blake’s odd expression. “You look confused.”

“I assumed you took pictures of wildflowers and butterflies.”

She rolled her eyes and went in for another bite of burger. “I get up close and personal with nature. My photos are used for education. Last summer I photographed an eagle’s nest on the summit. It was amazing.”

Blake dropped his napkin on the table. “The summit? That’s one hell of a dangerous climb.” He furrowed his brows. “You must really love what you do.”

“I do.” She smiled. Another thing they had in common. It was no secret Blake loved his job. The pride practically oozed from him when he wore that badge.

Marissa sat back in her chair, allowing her head to roll and her muscles to relax. Slowly, her eyelids drooped shut. Blake cleared his throat, and she jumped. “What happened?”

He stood over her looking inexplicably sad. “You fell asleep sitting up.”

“Oh.” She checked the corners of her mouth for drool. “Sorry. I should go to bed.” She stretched onto her feet, wincing at the pinch of tender muscles in her shoulders and neck.

Blake matched her move. “May I?” He motioned to the place where her hand rested on her bruised neck.

He waited for her to nod before stepping near.

Marissa braced herself to be touched by another towering man today. “Do they put you through medical training at the FBI?”

His warm fingers touched the tender skin of her throat and chin, tipping her head gently for a better look at the wounds. “A little. I think I got more experience growing up a Garrett.” He snorted quietly. “At least one of us boys were in constant need of a cast or stitches for about ten years. Nearly drove my poor mom to drink.”

Marissa smiled, though he couldn’t see her from his new position at her back. She and Kara had been the same way, though their parents were often right beside them.

He circled back to face her. “These bruises are going to look a lot worse before they look better. I can get some ice in here if you want. That might help with swelling.” He widened his stance until his face was nearly level with hers and shined a light in her eyes.

She swatted it away on instinct. “Where’d you get that.”

“Pocket. Hold still and let me look.”

“I don’t have a concussion. I was attacked hours ago. I’m fine. Cole already checked. Remember?”

“You need to clean these abrasions.”

“I did.”

Blake straightened and cocked a brow. “When?”

“Bathroom. I never leave home without a first aid kit. The cuts are cleaned. They’re already beginning to scab. I’m fine.”

“That’s what you keep saying. Did Cole offer to get a female medic to give you a more thorough evaluation?”

She sighed. “I’m. Fine. What happens to you now? Will someone come to relieve you so you can go home and sleep?”

“I don’t sleep much.” He walked her to the bedroom and made a slow circuit through the room, peeking into the bathroom before returning to the doorway. “I’ll wake you if anything significant happens.”

Marissa dawdled, frightened by the prospect of being alone.

Her phone buzzed with a text.

Blake nodded toward the sound. “Tell your family I said everything’s going to be okay.” He pulled the door shut behind him as he left.

Marissa climbed into the waiting arms of a comfortable queen-size bed and rolled onto her back. She lifted her cell phone into view and swiped the screen to life. She didn’t recognize the number on her new text message, but she opened it anyway.

Panic swelled in her chest and throat as she stared at the image of herself enveloped in Blake’s strong arms. The photograph was clearly taken from outside her bedroom window only hours earlier.

And the message read, Consider this Agent Garrett’s invitation to the wedding.


Chapter Four (#u07ab4e56-a05f-5785-91d7-792d74028b0d)

The chair toppled behind Blake as he lunged toward the freshly closed French doors, the only things standing between him, Marissa and whatever had elicited her bloodcurdling scream. The barrier sucked open before he reached it, whipping suddenly inward to reveal his trembling charge.

“Blake.” She choked on his name, extending her cell phone in his direction.

His gaze darted through the silent room behind her. No signs of an intruder. The window was securely closed. The bathroom door was open. No one was inside.

“Blake,” she pleaded, wiggling the phone. “Take it.”

Slowly, he holstered his sidearm. “You’re alone.”

“Yes.”

His muscles unclenched by a fraction. He dragged his attention from her stricken face to the offering in her white-knuckled grip. He hadn’t left her alone for more than thirty seconds. He’d barely pressed the straw of his chocolate malt to his lips before she’d screamed. The fine hairs along the back of his neck rose to attention as he pried the small pink device from her hand. That scream. His guts twisted at the thought of what it could have meant. What he could’ve found behind the doors.

“It’s him,” she whispered.

The momentary relief he’d felt at the sight of her was quickly replaced by the image on her screen. Revenge boiled in his blood. “This was the text you received?”

She nodded quickly, her attention glued to the phone.

He powered the device off and used his own to dial West’s number. “We’ve got a new problem. Nash has Marissa’s number. He sent a text with a photo. I don’t know if he’s tracked her. I powered the phone down. I’m pulling the SIM card now, but we need someone to capture prints outside her house and match them to the ones at the site of her attack. Also, get me a burner phone so she can stay in touch with her family.” He disconnected and returned his focus to Marissa, the statue in baggy white pajamas.

Her attention remained wholly fixed on the phone. “I can’t have it back?”

“Not right now.”

“I have pictures on there.”

“We won’t remove anything personal from the device. I promise. I’m just keeping the card separate so Nash can’t track us here.”

Marissa’s gaze snapped up to meet his. “He can do that?”

Twelve hours ago, Blake would’ve said no, but his opinion of Nash Barclay was rapidly changing. “Better not to take any chances.”

She wrapped her arms around her middle and lifted her chin. “Okay.”

“Why don’t you get back in bed? Cover up. Try to rest.”

Marissa cast a woeful look at the bed she’d no sooner climbed into than leapt back out of. “I could sleep on the couch.” Her voice lifted on the final word, bringing a hopeful expression to her pinched brow. “Then you won’t have to patrol both rooms.”

Blake rocked back on his heels. Having her in his line of sight would make his job a lot easier, but after the day she’d had, and whatever Nash still had planned, a good night’s sleep was best for Marissa. There was no way she’d get any decent rest on the couch. Not with local and federal authorities swarming in and out all night, trading intel and updates.

He dropped his chin an inch and cocked his head. “I’ll be just fine. You take the bed. I’ll keep watch.” If it meant Marissa could rest, he’d make the extra effort.

“Or,” she said softly, “you could work in here.”

Maybe it was her voice. Maybe it was the tenderness in the offer, but something stirred in Blake’s chest, extinguishing a tiny portion of the fire in his belly. His contempt for Nash had driven him this far, and he needed it now. What he didn’t need was to think of the kind of work he could do in a room like that with a woman like her. Marissa had earned his respect before they’d ever met. She’d done what he couldn’t do. When challenged by Nash, she’d gotten the best of him.

Blake stepped carefully into the front room of their suite and wedged the door open. “How about I set up shop here? If we leave this open, I can see the bed and the front door. You’ll be safe, and I won’t have to leave my post to check on you.”

Marissa turned on her socked feet and went back to the bed. Whatever she thought of the offer, she didn’t say, but she didn’t argue either.

He flipped the light switch, casting her room into shadows, and went to drag the chair and table to its new location.

* * *

MARISSA WOKE WITH a start. Her fingers curled deep into the soft fabric of hotel bedsheets. Her limbs were heavy with fatigue and her mind groggy with the effects of a restless night. She pried her stinging eyes open and squinted against the streams of poorly filtered sunlight sneaking through closed hotel blinds. Thank goodness the night was over. She hadn’t remembered falling asleep, but the dreams had come quickly. The rose petals and the lake. Nash and his song. She hadn’t stopped running through the dark forest since the moment she’d closed her eyes.

In the dream, she didn’t get away.

Blake flashed brilliant blue eyes on her in that moment, as if he’d somehow sensed her waking. “Morning.” His easy southern drawl pulled her back to reality. He’d repositioned the table and chairs from the front room, and by the looks of him, sat guard all night.

He swiped a travel mug off the table and pushed onto his feet. He stopped at the doorway. “May I?”

She nodded, pressing her lips together, certain she needed a toothbrush or chewing gum before speaking to anyone.

A few unfamiliar faces turned her way, then back, immediately disinterested. The vibration of quiet voices electrified the air beyond her bedroom door, buoyed by the scent of black coffee and the outdoors.

Blake handed the cup to Marissa. “How are you feeling this side of yesterday?”

She bobbed her head in positivity. “Awful.”

His mouth ticked up on one side. “Coffee helps.”

She pressed the cup to her lips and sucked the steaming hot liquid. The burn on her tongue and scald on her throat were a necessary evil. There was no time to waste on letting the liquid cool. “What have we learned?”




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